


Somewhere in Between

by PhantomWriter



Series: Discerning Customers [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Immortals, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 19:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19448380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomWriter/pseuds/PhantomWriter
Summary: “What is it now?”“I think,” Aziraphale said, almost breathless at the sort of zeal beginning to form from his discovery. “I think I just met Merlin.”





	Somewhere in Between

Aziraphale, with his nose buried on a newly acquired book, had missed the bell chiming.

Now, it wasn’t exactly a moment of rarity that a customer [1] would come in and go and ending up without any purchase after the attendant refused to acknowledge them. Or to be apter, never did a customer exit the bookshop with a purchase at all. It baffled a great deal of many how a business remained up and running in Central London with the terrible service the bookshop provided, then their bemusement would linger for a minute after they exited the door and they would go on with their lives as if they didn’t step from a bizarre establishment.

It was a foolproof trick that Aziraphale was quite proud of [2] and also felt mildly guilty for. In the end, it was down to choosing to confound any innocent soul who wandered in or to part with any of his precious first edition. The choice wasn’t quite difficult, he found.

That was why it came as a surprise when someone who wasn’t Crowley, or any of his celestial brethren, or any of the Fallen had suddenly snapped Aziraphale’s attention to the person that came in. 

It was a young man with dark hair and startlingly blue eyes which took everything in with awe and wonder as if he was transported in another location entirely. Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel an immediate sense of fondness for the young man’s unadulterated reaction.

Aziraphale realized, though, that something else called him to attention, and it was about this young man. His observation of the newcomer lasted for a second until the young man noticed him.

“Oh, pardon me. You are open, yes?” the young man asked, smiling sheepishly. “Unless you are not. I can come back later.”

Aziraphale returned the smile, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s early, but you’re not wrong, my boy. Please, feel free to look around.”

The young man’s face brightened even more. “Thank you… Mr. Fell, is it?”

“At your service.”

The young man extended a hand. “Emrys Morgan. My friends call me Em for short.”

Aziraphale enthusiastically shook Emrys’s hand. What a polite lad, he thought. “Emrys. Ah, not often do I hear Merlin’s other name. Very traditional,” he couldn’t help but point out.

Emrys seemed visibly startled at the recognition. He grinned. “And very few remember it,” he murmured. “It’s my parents, I’m afraid. They took too much of a liking with the Arthurian legend.”

“Not that I blame them,” Aziraphale said. “I’m a bit of an admirer myself. I lament that we have very few books on Merlin. Interesting chap, I’d say.”

At least, what Aziraphale heard from Sir Leon who had been a close friend of both King Arthur and his known servant turned close friend and advisor, Merlin. Merlin could have been the court sorcerer once he was revealed to be one, the strongest of the land by that time, in fact, but he had lived his life to seclusion following the death of his king and was never heard of again. Aziraphale might have seen the boy in passing within Camelot, and he supposed it was Merlin himself who had tried to avoid most knights outside the Round Table as much as possible during the waning ban on sorcery; therefore, they had never crossed paths. A pity that Aziraphale had been part of the Round Table a tad too late during Queen Guinevere’s reign. 

“He liked the life of a hermit to be known.”

“Maybe, but we’ll never know, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, unsure what to make of Emrys’s small wan smile. “Peace and quiet are well and good, but in the long run, it can be… lonesome. We all tend to crave the company of another, especially one that is constant.” Like how he has Crowley as his constant in the span of 6000 years.

Huh. That came out suddenly. 

“I agree,” Emrys said, barely audible.

“Oh, dear. I’m sorry. I’m holding you up, aren’t I?” Aziraphale scrambled around. He was strangely distracted for some reason—well, since Emrys came in. Curious. “Would you like a cuppa, my boy?”

“You don’t have to bother, Mr. Fell,” he heard Emrys say before Aziraphale disappeared in the back room.

Hmm, Aziraphale thought midstir of the cup. Is this what full customer service should entail?

No matter. Emrys was a courteous young man, and Aziraphale didn’t mind one bit.

He tilted his head to the side; it wasn’t as if Emrys was the first person Aziraphale came across who was polite and brimming with excitement at the prospect of books. Perhaps it was Emrys’s age within the generation of those who revered technology. There was something, however, that was different in him compared to the rest that Aziraphale couldn’t pin on.

When Aziraphale emerged with a cup of tea in hand, Emrys was standing by one of the shelves with the particularly old [3] collection, hand hovering over the spine of a red leather-bound book with golden trimming—Geoffrey of Monmouth’s.

To his surprise, Emrys didn’t touch it with his bare hands and instead pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and wore them before proceeding to pull out the book.

Aziraphale was unable to hold back an impressed noise.

“I do hope you don’t mind,” Emrys said immediately.

“No, of course not, dear boy.” Emrys liked quirking his eyebrows when he was called a boy apparently. “Ah, it’s just that this is a first that someone other than me knows how to handle them with care. I’m glad.”

“It’s—I’ve handled a few brittle ones.”

Aziraphale could see that. “Well.” He set down the cup. “I do hope you like green tea. Enjoy your reading, Emrys.”

Aziraphale returned to his Paulo Coelho as the silence stretched between him and his sole customer, though after a couple of pages he realized that his attention wasn’t entirely into it. He dropped all pretense and kept the book away for a later read.

A quick reader, this Emrys, Aziraphale noted, though he was carefully turning a page to another while clearly absorbed into the book. Occasionally, he would smile on a particular passage—it must have been regarding the anecdote on King Uther unknowingly married a troll in disguise [4]—and appeared wistful most of the time.

Emrys was an interesting fellow to watch, Aziraphale decided. He sighed for he wasn’t looking forward to refusing this earnest young man once he made the decision to buy the book.

His eyes flitted to the young man once more—nothing much to do inside a bookshop when he wasn’t reading or drinking with Crowley—and looked for a specific thing that made Aziraphale seemingly drawn to him. The blue eyes were intriguing perhaps, not unlike an angel’s in their vibrancy, though other than that, there was nothing out of ordinary of his pale complexion nor his dark hair. He dressed simply with a maroon sweatshirt, a scarlet neckerchief wrapped around his neck, and a pair of dark trousers. Appearance wise, there was nothing odd with the boy. He looked like a college student majoring in English Literature if Aziraphale was to hazard a guess.

Out of immense curiosity, Aziraphale truly _looked._

And, oh, he thought once he got a clear grasp of what kind of person he was dealing with, this must be the reason.

Emrys was shining brighter compared to most humans that Aziraphale met before, and it wasn’t the common hue he could see in them either; Emrys’s was bathed in golden light that could rival a divine being’s color of purity. He wasn’t a celestial, Aziraphale knew that much, though Emrys wasn’t quite the same with his kind… more special, in a way, and it was a first that Aziraphale encountered somebody like him.

The intensity of Aziraphale’s scrutiny didn’t go unnoticed, and before he knew it the light surrounding Emrys’s aura glowed considerably and died in a flash that made Aziraphale wince. He blinked and found Emrys staring at him with wariness, concern, and fascination rolled together. “Um,” he began, returning the book to the shelf without neglecting care though to distract himself momentarily. “I think I should go. Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Fell.”

“Who are you?” Aziraphale asked before Emrys could step out of the doors and vanish.

Emrys considered for a moment. His expression was genial as it was when he came in. “I already told you who I am.”

* * *

“Please don’t tell me you took up gardening,” Crowley said the instant he invited himself in, sniffing the air.

“I don’t?” Aziraphale replied unsurely. “Besides, what is it to you if I took up the hobby?” he added, affronted.

“I knew it,” Crowly muttered with displeasure. “Nothing, really. Except that, I don’t know, you’ll go overboard and make a miniature Garden of Eden. I gotta say, it’s a start with the similar smell of the soil.”

Alright, Aziraphale was no longer following. “What?”

“Smells earthy,” Crowley said, looking around.

“I don’t smell it. Is it that bad?”

“Not foul but too rich for my nose.” He sniffed again. “Like soil soaked in rainwater.”

“Smells muddy?” Aziraphale tried again.

Crowley grunted. “I’m saying why in the world your bookshop stinks like a freshly tilled garden.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He then frowned, thoughtful. “You know, my dear, I would have said it must be the new horticulture books, but I don’t think it is.”

“Sure.” Crowley crossed his arms. “You ready to go?”

“Of course, just let me…” In a sudden stroke of inspiration and epiphany, Aziraphale browsed through his collection of memoirs and the Arthurian lore. He pulled out another reference, one that he vaguely remembered reading in a criminally low number of times, the sole volume he has at hand regarding the Druids. “Oh, my.”

“What is it now?”

“I think,” Aziraphale said, almost breathless at the sort of zeal beginning to form from his discovery. “I think I just met Merlin.”

* * *

“Merlin,” Crowley repeated after Aziraphale mentioned the name for the hundredth time in a span of an hour.

“Why didn’t I think of it before? He has to be immortal,” Aziraphale said after a forkful of lobster, the first bite he took. “With all that innate magic, it shouldn’t be surprising.”

“Nope. Still impossible. He _was_ a human, and humans eventually perish, powerful sorcerer or not.”

“But what if he didn’t? We never got any written record of his demise.” 

“Not everything’s written down, angel, then there’s the pith _history is written by victors_.” A personal favorite of Crowley’s. “And I thought some pretty witch lured the old man away through seduction.”

“That’s… a bit fanfic-y, to be honest,” Aziraphale mumbled. “And the old man appearance was a disguise.”

Crowley snorted. “Because it couldn’t have been him getting older. For all we know they exaggerated on Merlin and his abilities with very few recollections as it is.”

“Few factual information, yes, but plenty on the contestable accounts regarding him.”

“Shush. You’ll be surprised at the amount of truth in a lie,” Crowley said, glancing with disdain at Aziraphale’s barely touched plate. “Eat, will you.”

Aziraphale picked up his fork, though he simply waved his hand dismissively with it. “I don’t know, my dear. There’s too much we don’t know about him, and I’m curious to know what he has to say. I doubt he holed himself while the world gets older around him. He must have been like us, traveled across the lands and witnessed a significant number of events, but he had to do it alone because, well, he’s isn’t like either of us who have each other.”

Aziraphale thought he said something wrong when Crowley fell silent; he couldn’t tell with the dark sunglasses. Still, Aziraphale’s mind lingered on Emrys—Merlin—both were correct names, actually. He hoped to see him again and chat. Looking closely, Merlin seemed like he needed a friend or two. Poor lad, probably thinking he was all alone as an immortal of this world. 

“Eat,” Crowley commanded, interrupting Aziraphale’s reverie with a fork in front of him. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in confusion. Crowley was strangely insistent with the food today.

Must be one of his quirky ways to show concern, Aziraphale mused, or a subtle way of encouraging gluttony.

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale plucked the fork from Crowley and ate. Another displeasure crossed the demon’s face and was gone easily.

“Assuming, _assuming_ , you are right about him,” Crowley said after a while. “What exactly do you want to do?”

“Find him first,” Aziraphale replied. “Talk to him. Make him an acquaintance.”

“Make friendsss, you mean,” Crowley sneered. “As if you need more.”

“I think there’s no harm in making a lot of friends, especially with an immortal like us. I’m also interested in the stories he has.”

“Whatever.” Aziraphale could tell he was feigning flippancy, though he couldn’t discern why it troubled Crowley greatly. 

He forgot about it when Crowley pushed the soufflé to his direction.

* * *

Aziraphale tried to hide his disappointment whenever a customer would come in only to find it wasn’t Emrys. He had taken a renewed interest scouring his books on Arthurian Legend and sources that cited mentions of Emrys or Merlin. He knew he was bordering desperation when he even asked Crowley to help him navigate the jungle known as the internet, and the social media for a young man named Emrys Morgan, nicknamed Em. He knew that Crowley was discouraging him from his search by taunting him with names such as ‘stalker’ and ‘creep’.

A week of unfruitful results and Aziraphale refusing to give up, Crowley had enough.

“Alright, fine. How badly do you want to look for him?”

“I’m—What?”

“What, you want him back here within the week or later or something?”

“I…” Aziraphale considered his answer. “I’d like to find him as soon as possible.”

Crowley shrugged. “That works. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To teach.” Crowley smirked wickedly.

* * *

To pose as university professors, more like, as Aziraphale found out later. 

They raised a couple of eyebrows at the hallway, though it wasn’t due to their sudden appearance [5] insomuch as their combined presence that screamed an Oxfordian professor who smiled easily but has no qualms failing you on the spot and another who previously came from a sabbatical and found a higher calling in the industry of rock music.

“Is this really necessary?” Aziraphale asked discreetly when a group of three students promptly went out of their way. “This is rather overt. Don’t you think?”

“Afraid of a little attention?” Except, nothing in it was little.

“What I mean to say is that it defeats the purpose of finding Merlin. If he does not wish to be found.” Though it baffled Aziraphale why the boy would hide from him. Had he somehow realized that Aziraphale discovered him and his secret?

“Nah. I’m sure that he doesn’t mean to hide,” Crowley said casually. He eyed the two male students who both emerged from the loo, suspiciously disheveled in all manner of appearance. “If anything, he’s preparing.”

“What for?”

“So many questions, ask him yourself since you’re so _fond_ of your dear boy,” Crowley said acerbically. “Here.” They stopped in front of a lecture hall. “Corner him, angel.”

Aziraphale was all but pushed inside where a flock of students greeted him a pleasant morning. His eyes swept over them uneasily before his attention rested on the equally surprised expression of Emrys among the crowd. Aziraphale decided that yes, he would have to go over this. And quick before Emrys made up his mind to flee.

Whatever Crowley did to ensure the absence of the actual professor of the class—Christian Theology, as it turned out—Aziraphale hoped it wasn’t particularly permanent. The pupils accepted him as the substitute without hitch, except by Emrys who was focused on him and his spontaneous lecture on the Doctrine of Angelology; [6] a little on the nose, Aziraphale thought wryly.

He never did try to give a formal lecture, and while he was told that he would make a good instructor given that he was already looking the part, Aziraphale quite enjoyed the two-hour lesson he gave to the students whose attention remained undivided. [7] He was banking on Merlin’s quickness on the uptake, and Aziraphale was relieved when he saw how the understanding gradually dawned on the boy.

Aziraphale got enthusiastic farewells afterward and more smiles than a regular professor would get after a long lecture. It wasn’t surprising when Merlin was the one left as the rest filed out.

“Well, I was expecting you to come back around,” Aziraphale said first. “But you are wary and I understand.”

“This course gave it away?” Merlin asked, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “To be fair, I wasn’t sure what or who are you, and then I began to think in a wider scale and started to consider this,” he gestured vaguely around him, “religion and other beliefs. If that makes any sense. I even have a class in Greek Mythology after this.”

“It does make sense to me, dear boy,” Aziraphale said kindly. 

Merlin’s eyebrows did a funny quirk once more at being called boy. “Wow, it’s been a while that I’m called that while it’s true. You are older than me, yes?”

“By a couple of millennia. Been around approximately 6000 years.” Aziraphale let him digest that first, leading both of them to the outside grounds. It was a clear day, and Crowley was nowhere to be found.

“Are there more of you? Of us, people who have been around for long?” Merlin asked once they stepped outside.

“My coworkers drop by occasionally, and I have a, ah, companion who has been around among the humans the same time as me.” Aziraphale wondered how Merlin would react to Crowley. “But strictly speaking, you are the first human I met who possesses immortality. It is not the same as ours, is it? Or else I would have known.”

“It’s not.” Merlin smiled wanly. “But you can ask me anyway. I won’t mind. I’ve been around for too long creating personas to blend among the others, and for once I want to tell the truth to someone I know who will understand.”

Aziraphale hesitated; Merlin’s story was clearly that of old wounds that he would have to pick open once more. He was, however, unable to stop empathizing with the loneliness that was seeping out of this boy.

Aziraphale asked, and Merlin told him.

A human through and through, but special in a way that while his body was human his very essence was that of magic, the magic of Earth, to be exact. Merlin’s magic relied on balance set upon by the Old Religion that made Merlin. A tremendous amount of magic and immortality—a pair sought after by sorcerers and sorceresses through inhumane means and sacrifice and Merlin possessed both the moment he was born. Merlin should have found them as blessings, and he said that he did, in the beginning, when the people he loved and cared about yet lived until they died as he remained untouched by time. The realization that this fate was forever, Merlin began treating it as a curse.

“I’m sorry, my boy,” Aziraphale said.

“Don’t be,” Merlin said. “I apologize. I’m not usually this mopey a company.”

Merlin told Aziraphale of a prophecy that King Arthur would rise in the time of need, and Merlin believed it for a while until he saw the humans developed, and the world with them. Humans made peace among themselves and learned how to make instruments of defense if ever their peace was to be threatened. It would be cruel to ask Arthur to return in a world where he would be out of place and without the people he loved, his Queen Guinevere, no longer around. After centuries of keeping a watchful eye on where King Arthur was buried, Merlin learned to let go of the dead slowly and began traveling the world while occasionally dropping by King Arthur’s grave as how a dear friend would visit a late friend: without expecting him to rise.

“It must be the reason why I only found out about your bookshop recently,” Merlin segued. “If I had visited your shop all those years ago you established it, I would have noticed what’s up. I’ve been around, here and there, but in the end, I always return here in this country, searching on how to make it my home again.”

Aziraphale let Merlin end his side with a wistful thought. It was obvious that it took a lot on the poor boy. To rest Merlin’s mind, Aziraphale shared his own story with him, brimming with the joy and optimism for the human race. He told him his years in Camelot where he heard a few interesting events in the court that happened before Aziraphale’s arrival, of his purpose as an agent of Heaven, and who the Almighty was from the perspective of an angel. It was an engaging discussion that distracted Merlin if Aziraphale must say so. 

In the middle of it all, they somehow managed to arrive at Aziraphale’s bookshop. Aziraphale wondered who it was between them who transported the both of them; he has a feeling that it was Merlin, but Aziraphale ended up chalking it to the time and everything else fleeting by as they talked and talked and talked. Aziraphale brought out teas until their conversation called for something stronger. There was wine, and Merlin admitted to imbibing only on celebrations.

“You mentioned earlier that you have a companion who has been around as long as you,” Merlin said. “Another angel?”

“Ah, no, dear boy,” Aziraphale said reluctantly, unsure how to bring up. “You heard of demons, yes?”

It was both amusing and comforting how Merlin accepted and raptly listened to Aziraphale’s stories of Crowley and how their Agreement [8] was formed.

“Well, it’s nice to know that you two are pushing the boundaries of leniency in your respective sides,” Merlin said with a grin. Aziraphale was glad to see that the boy regained a bit of that happiness he displayed upon his first encounter with him. “Must be nice to have a permanent companion.”

Permanent companion. A curious term but one that Aziraphale couldn’t find it in him to correct; it was appropriate.

“Yes. I am fortunate to have him,” Aziraphale said.

He wasn’t sure what to make out of the knowing look Merlin sent him.

Crowley, a demon of impeccable timing, chose that moment to waltz in unannounced, fuming.

“Of course, don’t tell me where you are so I go looking for you around the campus,” Crowley accused immediately at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale frowned. “I thought you left ahead of time.”

“I didn’t! I was loitering and stepping on the grass!”

Merlin surprised them both by chuckling. When Crowley’s attention was on him, he hastily said: “I’m sorry. I brought Mr. Fell with me here absently when we got carried away with our chat.”

Crowley stared at him and then turned to Aziraphale. “I thought you already revealed who you are.”

“Dear me. I haven’t told you who I am, have I?” Aziraphale sighed. “Pardon me, my boy, but from now on call me Aziraphale.”

“Then it’s Merlin to you,” Merlin said.

Aziraphale offered his hand again for the new round of introduction when Merlin gathered him in an embrace instead. It was intriguing to note of the little noise Crowley let out when he witnessed it and when Aziraphale gingerly returned the gesture. Crowley looked positively livid for some reason, but it only took a look from Aziraphale for him to calm down. The demon settled for seething.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale heard Merlin whisper. “I didn’t know I need that until now.”

“You are always welcome here, dear boy,” Aziraphale reminded him. “You have a friend in me and Crowley.”

Crowley looked ready to protest when Merlin gave him a brief embrace as well, one which Crowley tried to inch away but was caught by Merlin in a bout of enthusiasm. The demon struggled, sputtering: _oi, don’t get any ideas, kid_ , but was eventually let go by Merlin. With his back turned to Aziraphale, Merlin gave Crowley a conspiratorial wink that the demon would have to dissect later on his own.

“Goodbye, Aziraphale, Mr. Crowley,” Merlin said before turning to leave and after a gentle refusal of a dinner invitation. Next time, he promised Aziraphale. And by then they both knew Crowley would have been acclimated by his presence. “I’ll see you two around.”

“Take care, dear boy,” Aziraphale said.

* * *

“Got yourself a hugger,” Crowley grumbled with crossed arms once Merlin was gone. “Why is he so touchy? You’d expect that somebody who lived for too long alone will be against contact.”

“I don’t mind,” Aziraphale said absently. “He needed that. An assurance that we exist, beings like him who’s immortal.”

“There won’t be next time.” Crowley paused. “Oh, Hell. We’ll be seeing that guy around again soon, don’t we?”

“It’s all thanks to you, my dear,” Aziraphale gently reminded him. “That was an incredible sense of smell.”

Crowley grunted. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Now, may I tempt you with a Sauvignon?” Aziraphale chirped. “As thanks.”

It wasn’t as if Crowley has the strength to refuse Aziraphale when the angel was in good spirits after a job well-done, nor was he able to refuse Aziraphale of anything, for that matter—something that he learned for some time now. The fact that he knew he would have to contend with a newbie for Aziraphale’s attention from now on was somewhat alarming.

Not that it mattered. He has been in this dance longer than anyone else. 

**Author's Note:**

> [1] A window shopper was a more fitting term for them, but Aziraphale refused to use it due to the fact that it was technically wrong—and right at the same time; somewhere in the middle, really.
> 
> [2] And he believed Crowley as well if only Aziraphale could also fish payment in exchange for nothing with the same move, but he must draw the line somewhere. Angels weren’t supposed to be that terrible. 
> 
> [3] When he said old, he meant millennium old.
> 
> [4] Which Crowley regrettably claimed he didn’t have a hand on.
> 
> [5] Aziraphale knew it was Crowley’s machination that nobody questioned them upon entry, with campus ID and everything. It was also doubtful that everyone knew who was who and who was supposed to be within the campus grounds or not. 
> 
> [6] A major category often neglected and was left out in the initial copy of the module until it appeared again that morning. There was only a single student who found it perplexing.
> 
> [7] A bit of retrospection done at a later date would reveal a distinct but inadvertent divine influence.
> 
> [8] Aziraphale deemed it safe to share to someone like Merlin who he believed existed outside the authority of Heaven and Hell.


End file.
